What Chains Reveal
by Ripped of Sanity
Summary: AU. Slash. AU. The Wizarding World made Harry into the perfect Gryffindor: The Perfect Savior. Love saves him.


**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling and affliates. Therefore, I did not make any profit from this fanfiction; this is for pure fun.**

**Title: What Chains Reveal**

**Summary: AU. The Wizarding World made Harry into the perfect Gryffindor: The Perfect Savior. Love saves him.**

**Warnings: Slash - Male/Male sexual situations. Violence. **

**Story Notes: This was originally a oneshot written for Kamerreon's Birthday Contest, but I've never gotten around to finishing it. I finally decided that my lazy arse needed a kick in the rear and here it is!**

**Author's Note: It has taken me a while to figure out where I was going with this story and I think I've finally got it. This story will now be in 2 parts. This chapter is a combination of the former first chapter and an edited version of the second chapter.**

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**The Second Task**

Harry dove into the murky waters of the lake, its brisk hands sleekly caressing tan muscles as they stretched to accommodate the dive. The icy touch tightened his muscles, slammed pain into his nerves that was easily rolled off from the various training he had taken since his enrollment in the Wizarding World. The smooth grip of the water steeled his body, strengthening his resolve to fight through its resistance, to ply its closed walls open with practiced fingers and come through victorious.

A champion.

A Hero.

The gills had already eaten at the skin of his cheeks, tearing them open, revealing the insides to the water, oxygen soothing the fire in his chest. At his fingers and his toes the skin stretched and thinned to connect the appendages into webbed hands and feet; the quick acting effect of Gillyweed.

Underneath the seemingly calm shore of the lake, the waters remained dense of dark color making it virtually impossible to see and navigate. The water twisted around him, ravaging the plant life surrounding him, the green shifting every second to change the mapping of the lake's depth. It fought his every movement, a physical being pushing back at him the deeper he swam, grabbing on to tiring limb and ripping at energy renewed again and again by sheer determination.

Harry continued to struggle through the threatening waves, never giving up, throwing what the waters threw at him back with more power, more passion.

He _had_ to win. Had to show the world that he, for once, could do something on his own. That he could accomplish something purposely, with his own thought and action. That he was no longer the Boy-Who-Lived-Accidently. That he was his own person and not the title. That he shouldn't be praised and idolized for living through an attempted murder, for killing a man as a baby. These were his reasons for trying his hardest at winning a tournament he neither entered nor wanted a part of.

Harry grit his teeth behind grimaced lips, swimming faster, diving deeper; following the strange, enchanting sounds that swirled in his ears, music that vibrated the water. He must have been swimming for quite a while, but time hadn't followed in its clinging way under with him. Down here he knew nothing of time; knew nothing but this need to win and to show them all he was worth something.

Show _him_ he was worth something.

He swam into the thickest drove of seaweed in front of him, a deep gut feeling telling him this was the way. The way to everything he wanted.

On the other side of the drove were light and magnificence and creatures that he had never before seen. In the middle of the center's beauty stood a structure of wood and rope. To that structure four people were tied. Four people, unconscious, helpless and treasured to the competitors who searched the murky lake waters for them. Four people sealed in to fragile shells; open and bare to dangerous water.

His eyes quickly passed and dismissed two of the prisoners, one he vaguely recognized and another who drew nothing from his memory. They stopped briefly on the next, a girl of ripe peachy skin and bountiful curls richly brown. Harry's eyes softened on seeing her, relief filling him when Viktor's frequent and sheathed glances were explained in this simple, uncomplicated way.

A smile touching his lips, he looked on and locked onto the last of the four.

A tornado slammed into him. Vicious and hungry it tore at his soft insides, destroying whatever piece of mind that had held him together for so long.

Harry shut down and let Automatic take over.

He reawakened to frosted crunchy grass under soaking bottom in the embrace of stiff and heavenly warm blankets.

His eyes were open and the switch of power brightened glassy eyes, color returned to ivory cheek, heat overcame the cold and life was reawakened.

"_We've taken what you'll sorely miss_." The whispered verse twisted the cold air, became solid and needled Harry's heart.

Harry turned away from the body beside him, his magic fanning out, heating the blood in his veins, warming his skin. Without a word, he avoided looking into the eyes of his companion and stood from the petrified grass. Dry, he transfigured his swimming shorts into a snug emerald turtleneck and black dragon hide pants.

Barefoot, he made his way back to the castle, a Feather-light Charm tingling his feet. He staunchly ignored the rising cries of a frantic beetle, brushed off the cheers of the crowd. There was nothing in him that cared for his scores anymore. All that mattered was that he had won; he had beaten the others and solidified his standing in the Tournament. He didn't need to prove anything else, didn't need to bask in their admiration – not when his chest had been ripped apart and his heart lay open for all to see.

A mane of long onyx curled at his waist, thick and silky. The wind's kisses fluttered through the straight locks, loosely coiling his hair. They whispered lovely affections to his ears, dragging away the words of the one he wished to have – and avoid.

The castle was within his sights when he was forced to stop, halted by a slim hand resting on his shoulder. His head turned a fraction, cold green eyes meeting the intruder of his peace.

"Is there something that you want?" Blunt, simple and straight to the point – nothing at all like the thundering clouds roaring in his chest.

The owner of the elegant hand drew back, the features of his face smoothing and taking on the slate expression his house was famous for.

"I want to know why you feign a cold exterior when your heart is as warm and alive as mine."

The gentle breeze turned biting for the Slytherin who still bore water from the lake. The brunet ignored the fierce chill as wind fought water, clenching his jaw and hands, eyes never leaving the green eyed boy.

Harry looked on as the boy in front of him kept his unwavering attention on him. Harry didn't plan to answer, but it already sung in the tenseness of his muscles, the lilt of lips, the wistful expression of his eyes and the pounding of his heart.

Harry lied. "All with the duty of murder should respect their task and act accordingly." He turned back to the castle leaving behind a confused Slytherin, who for all his pureblood upbringing couldn't translate the Golden Boy's cryptic words.

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**The Third Task**

_His breathing was calm. His breathing was calm._ The mantra repeated in Harry's head like poison, leeching at the rage that had become his heart. It sunk its teeth into all feeling, numbing the pain his body suffered from. It had been a long while since he had truly felt the brittle, flaming presence of pain and he welcomed it_. _It brought the clarity he sorely needed after the surprising turn of events.

His blood boiled from the repeated attack of _Oppugno_, the spell veering from its original intent to turn his blood cells against each other, curdling in his veins as they twisted and spiked to meet the demands of the spell.

All the while, as he was hit from all sides, as his blood turned traitor on its host, as the furious waves of heavy, tight pain tangled into a thickening ball in his throat, he grinned through their torture; laughing as his blood knifed at his veins, his muscles, his heart, because he was above the physical torture. After suffering as he did, the feeling became an affect of the mind.

Boiling blood turned to sludge, barreling through his body in solid clumps and Harry could see his little pudgy fingers curling around a drawing he had made in his kindergarten class. He would've snorted in bemusement at the memory if a certain platinum blond wizard hadn't dug into the flesh of his side with an acid band.

He sighed in wonder; that had been the only time in his life that he had had joy in creating pictures of his family and the six year old drew what came natural to him; his aunt, uncle and cousin. He had been so excited to get home and show it off that he had left Dudley behind in his rush to get back to Number 4 Privet Drive.

Harry had to shake his head. How many times had he gone over the What Ifs of that day? What if he had had more artistic talent for his six year old hand to bend to? What if he had been a good boy and done all of his chores before running off to school? What if he hadn't left Dudley to walk home without him? What if his family had loved him?

Harry drew back with a snarling bark, his mouth pulling back to bare teeth glistening with blood and spit. A bulky Death Eater who had been formerly revealed as senior Crabbe – or maybe senior Goyle, even his skill in detecting dissimilarities in look-a-likes could not correctly decipher who was who of the pair – chuckled in delight at being the one to finally elicit a physical response from the Boy Hero brat.

Harry let him have his fun knowing he would sincerely enjoy drawing every last drop of blood from the hideous man.

The thought drew him back to Aunt Petunia and her bloody plate, the pearl colored shards clattering to the floor, ruby streams running over his wide eyes, flowing from her nicked hands.

He refused to feel the burning sensation of their actions after that day. He wouldn't allow it to control him. He promised himself.

"No, no, no. This just won't do."

The hoarsely muttered words brought smoldering emerald to displeased slits of crimson.

The inhuman man gave a drawled tut; spindly index fingers shaking slowly from side to side, "Little Potter, why must you be so stubborn?"

Harry shuddered in disgust as Voldemort's serpentine eyes lazily settled on the bulbous man who stood shuddering among the black robed wizards. A vicious smile settled on his lips as he looked back at the stone faced fourth year. The raven haired boy let his revulsion leak onto his face; Voldemort was far from a good-looking man…snake thing.

"Wormtail, bring our guest. I'm sure Harry here will be very pleased to see him."

Cool wind breezed over the few evergreen leaves clinging to the petrified branches of sickly trees, widening the holes created by the mouths of starving caterpillars, but Harry felt only the growing hot red climbing from his belly as Wormtail gleefully dragged a struggling body into the circle of Death Eaters.

"Let go of me, you sniveling beast!"

Theodore Nott yanked against the drooling man holding him, but screamed in agony as a silver hand crushed his elbow. The pain was white hot, shooting away at his nerves as the unbearable hurt of a shattered joint coursed his body.

Cheerful, light clapping added to the pounding in his left arm and the bursting hammering in his head, but all of it halted when the cold of a hoarse voice beat through to his brain.

"Wormtail, don't be so eager. We have guests to entertain," his eyes slid greedily over the young boy's tightly drawn body, "and we don't want to ruin our young friend here, do we?"

The tall Slytherin shrunk back reflexively, fear gnawing at what calm thought he had left. Chocolate eyes didn't dare lift to meet the speaker and even his pain was ignored as he tried to shrink into himself.

"My lord, can I play with him please?" Wormtail's gleeful plea was thick with the vast amounts of saliva dripping from tattered gum and yellowed teeth to overflow over his gluttonous, hairy chin.

Voldemort eyed Wormtail with veiled irritation before carelessly motioning to the rat Animagus with a lofty hand. "Don't damage the boy too much. I will require his services later on."

Harry stiffened when Theodore's wretched screams pierced the stiff air, bound fists clenching as Wormtail's gurgling chuckles followed. The laughter that bubbled from Harry's tongue was desperate and high pitched, a squall tearing eagerly at his lungs, his throat. Blood gushed from fresh wounds, pouring from his mouth to the ground as his head hung limply, the blood flowing in a steady stream of thick ruby red.

Voldemort was surprised at the Boy-Who-Lived's response, but nonetheless thrilled at the sight, if slightly disappointed that his play time was coming to an end. It was clear the boy's sanity had given under the constant barrage of hexes and curses.

"_You are a foolish man, Tom Riddle."_

Ebony locks, dampened by heat and sweat, hung richly from his head, long bangs shadowing glowing eyes as Harry lifted his head, blood still pouring from his grinning lips. The Death Eaters and Voldemort watched mesmerized at the eerie, yet beautiful scene; even Wormtail stopped torturing his victim.

Like all the rest, Theodore had eyes only for Harry as the teen's face finally came to view and he was horrified at what his saw. The raven's sharp cheek bones were splintered through the skin of his cheeks, his full mouth cracked and spilling crimson rivulets; the corners of Harry's exotic eyes were pulled and ripped at the sides. His blood…his blood was caked everywhere and that hurt the Slytherin more than anything, sobs wracking his body at seeing Harry bloodied and disfigured.

Before this year he hardly gave a glance to the heralded Gryffindor, preferring to stay away from the timeless feud between his house and Harry's. He stayed to his studies and kept to himself, not wanting to draw any attention. The Second Task changed everything. The beginnings of something were planted in his chest the second his eyes were met with the pain and devastation engraved in the Chosen One's face and eye. It stayed with him as he took his supper, rested in the common room, studied for his courses. Stayed with him because he understood what it felt like to hide who you were to avoid hurt. He watched from afar as Harry led a life separate from his and though he felt the seeds bloom and grow further and stronger each day, he said nothing; did nothing.

Theo felt strength building in his limbs and with determination he had never felt before, he dug his hand into the soft mud of the cemetery grounds, curling his limp arm to his chest as he pushed up to stand on shaky, yet steady feet. No one noticed him, all too ensnared in the picture before them. He made his way to his Harry on unsteady feet; his ankle weak and twisted under him to be of much use, but he pushed on anyway. He _had _to get to Harry; he _had to._

By the time he stood unsteadily in front of Harry's captured form, it was too late for anything to be done.

"_Harry…_"

Theodore's soft words struck a chord in Harry and fiery green flew to meet deep chocolate.

Pain tightened the Boy-Who-Lived's face, the green of his eyes igniting before they hazed with agony at seeing his love like this.

"Theo…_my Theo."_ Blood continued to spill from his mouth and should have made his words unintelligible, but love shone through to who it meant most. Harry wanted so badly to wrap the boy into his arms and never let go. He regretted keeping silent after the prospect of losing the chance to make Theo his became all too real.

Harry never dreamed he would be able to look at Theodore with the love he held in his heart. To do so now made him bitter with irony. He wouldn't live past the night, and Fate mocked him with everything he wanted and never would have the chance to do when it came to the feelings he hid for all the years gone.

A slim hand, pale and gleaming in the moonlight stretched to meet hollowed cheek, fingers gently running over the rough spikes of torn bone jutting through what was once deeply tanned skin. A soft cry escaped his lips and he watched as Harry's eyes started to flutter and his body began to grow lifeless from blood loss. Theo couldn't take it anymore, the torment of seeing Harry like this; he couldn't see him die now and frantically he pressed his lips to Harry's in a promise that they'd see the night through together.

Harry's mouth was slack against his, but as the seconds passed they moved to join their lips into a closer dance, rich blood flowing between them and onto Theo's tongue as the kiss went on. It was soft, urgent and so strong that Harry finally felt safe to let go and trust in his love; to trust in Theo.

All went black.


End file.
